


Marked for vice

by eyepatch_eyecandy



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Other, Self Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:47:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28893144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyepatch_eyecandy/pseuds/eyepatch_eyecandy





	1. River

I pushed some hair out of her face. Soundlessly, we lay, her back on my chest, staring at the ceiling. I hoped that the bed was soft enough and the numerous pillows could support all her weight. I hated how thin and pale shed become, the tremors in her limbs being the only signs of her stress. Despite it all she was still really pretty; it is a shame that I did not notice that sooner. Her eyes are a magic trick. They’re dark & small, scathingly cruising your ever movement until she smiled them away. On the confines of my bed, so close to the nape of her neck, it was only expected to smell the scent of her perfume. The aura smelt just like what I expected it to smell like and yet each time that aromatic song was a floral orchestra of the soul.  
The sun slowly began to rise, slithers passed through the gaps in the curtains that turned her raven black hair into that mousy brown she is saving to dye it. She says it will make her cheekbones more striking. It was always at this moment, that she had to go, and I hated every part of that. Maybe one day we will hide somewhere, perhaps even adopt a little puppy. But for now, I was content here, listening to her breath fan out into my face. This was my heaven on earth.  
I must have gotten carried away- far too carried away, because soon heavy footsteps echoed down the concrete walls. Each footfall was chaotically spaced from the last, no rhythm at all. It could only be my mother, trying to walk quietly by relaying on the verges to muffle their steps. I should have anticipated this. River pushed my hand out of the way. I shot out of bed. Adrenaline floods my system; it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. I think my heart will explode and my eyes are wide with fear. River’s eyes were big like a deer caught in headlights. She knew where she should have hidden and did not take a moment more to jump into the closet and slam the door shut.  
Seconds passed slowly. Without her being beside me, the room had become quite and dark, with only one sound to be heard: the sound of my own pulse throbbing in my ears. Suddenly, the serenity of silence surrendered to the deathly scream of hinges, as the door opposite me was slowly prised open. A large beam of light blinded me. I held her breathe, daring not to make a sound. Each second seemed to last an eternity as I sat perfectly still as we both wondered who would make the first move.  
Mama stormed into the room with a face that betrayed her anger. Wordlessly, she began rummaging through the cupboards. Shoes, books and clothes all fell at mercy to her anger fuelled search.  
“I know you’re doing something. What were you doing?” She demanded, “Where did you put it?”.  
“Nothing! What are you doing mum? Why don’t you chill out?”  
She didn’t even turn to me, instead resorting to throwing more belongings on the floor. I have not done anything to deserve this sort of reaction.  
“You can’t be serious. What have I done to deserve this?” I wailed. “I’ve done my chores, finished my homework, and now-” I checked out, “Now, I want to rest. Or is that a crime?” Typical of mother to try and ruin any sense of relief or happiness I will ever get. But I had had enough. This was going to be the last time.  
“Why don’t you go pamper your favourite child? Huh? Why don’t you go and irritate them and leave me ALONE!”  
She didn’t even bother returning my yells with ones of her own. Clearly what had once enraged and offended her no longer had the same effect. Instead, she turns to me and looks through me.  
Through me, to the closet behind me. She advanced slowly, almost sure that what I as hiding. I couldn’t know if she had known and staging this large intervention. Theatrically, her hand shot out to reach for the handle. Small and cluttered did not begin to describe what the room looked like now. I didn’t want river to see that all the effort she had put in into redecorating had gone to waste for this. I had to change my tactics.  
“No mama. Stop what you are doing. You messed up my room enough” I pleaded. She tried to wrestle her way closer to the door. She refused to acknowledge me.  
“This only means that I have to spend all day tidying your mess! Why don’t you leave me and my room alone?” Her hand flung out and pulled the old door open.  
It was empty.  
I scanned the ruins of my bedroom, a hand contorting my guts. My muscles are frozen in place but filled with such a tingling pressure I want to run until I couldn’t anymore. Where did she go? Did she leave under the cover of the argument?  
“River? River!” I cried out. Mama put her hand on my shoulder, stopping me from leaving.  
“No honey, please, not again.” Tears were running down her face. “Darling— River’s been gone for years, don’t you remember?”


	2. Silence

My phone sunk much slower than I did. Or maybe I sank faster. Everything here was so much calmer and yet I could not breathe out and relax. My shoes dragged me down, just like they had warned me. And yet it was not my main concern. Down here, you were surrounded by Gaia’s arms, there was no difference between anyone. I turned my head slightly to see a common street pigeon struggle as the plastic tying its wings sank slowly. Such an absurd sight had cost me several precious breathes but I managed to hold in a few more seconds of life. Looking above, I wished I could see the bridge and yet the gentle tap of rain and pollution obscured my last window to what could have been. My phone rang and I held onto it, its bright light illuminating the abyss bellow me. I blew my last breath, despite the aching burn in my chest, knowing soon I would be free.  
***  
Silence consumed the poor souls that witnessed the chaos unfold. A young girl let a get-well balloon she was planning to gift her mum fly away. This was not a sight made for a six-year-old- or in fact, her 37-year-old father who was too consumed with his twitter feed to care.  
Nobody would notice that she was gone. Not for a few hours, when her body floated downstream.  
Even so, not one person in her class could remember what she looked like or her name, almost like she had never existed. Soon her seat was taken, and she was replaced. The world continued spinning. Worst yet, nobody cried at her funeral. Out of the expected turnout of 10 only her father came. A single passer-by who felt for the man occupied the only other seat. Not too long later, what was left of his body appeared after a dry summer. But by now, he had been eroded to the size of a pebble. But nobody cared- a suicide in a ghost town was not news. Birds no longer migrated here. Nothing would grow in the dust anymore.  
Silence had consumed it all.


	3. A key

Fear.  
He gasped the key and tried to scream but by then it already was too late; he could feel her cold, pale fingers claw at his shirt, pushing him backwards. Tears, screams, kicks: it already was too late, as, he too, was turning into another bony, soulless monster that hung in the walls. At the last moment, he regretted ever coming to explore the corridors and thought of his mother. He was a spent swimmer, and he understand that he had long lost this battle…  
*************************************************  
Smiling, Atticus held a key in his palm. A long, antique brass key that he had found in the garden was making him a day a little better. He had, of course, fought with his mother earlier and could not understand why he was banished to the outhouse. But, at least, he was enjoying his find. It was not the kind of smile he could fake- this was pure excitement that had built up after hours of searching though the dust. With the eagerness of an archaeologist, he rubbed away at the dirt until his grimy fingers revelled the words ‘Find me’ on its label. Afraid that someone was going to spot him, he slipped his key into his front pocket. Safe for now, so he could add it to his collection latter.  
Unable not to feel guilt at not cloning what he was told to, Atticus nimbly traveling the many corridors. Afterall, his mother had sunk into a frightening poverty since her husband died in The Great War. Even though she was harsh and trustworthy, she could only be thankful to get her position at Pensoft Manor, remarried and kept her job during the Great Depression. Drunk, disorderly, and aggressive man was Atticus’ father, and yet, better than most men in the area. Atticus, however, looked nothing like his fair-haired father, rather having dark eyes that resembled the fear his mother had and her intelligence. That intelligence often got him into uncomfortable positions but today was supposed to be different.  
He could hardly stop himself from skipping down the corridors and wondering into the only room he was not allowed in. He pondered over its impressive paintings with elaborate gilt frames, centuries old. That is when he felt a hand grabbing him.  
Fear.


	4. A face mask that protects a healthcare worker in a hospital in London during covid-19.

They need me, they really do. They know this too- that’s why they’ve made me then stored the knowledge somewhere. In another country, mass copies of me are made. Here I and all my siblings help cover their face so no one can see their face. They need me: if they didn’t there wouldn’t be as many copies of me.

I’m always there, a comforting reminder that they are not alone. That they did not sign that death certificate alone. I’m there when they break down in tears because they have barely slept last night. Or because they feel alone. Or whatever it is. I watch the life fade away in one of those things they are tasked with taking care of with them. 

But in the end I always get thrown away. Despite all I have done, less than four hours later I in a bin face down, the rest of their outer protective clothes are thrown in on me, crushing my body. They know I am the only reason they are alive and well. So why do they throw me away the first moment they can?


	5. A gravestone that watches over its dead, witnessing the changes of the city around it.

I needed him but he doesn’t need me. Sometimes I wondered why he even paid to have me here, with the frequent outbursts of anger every time I tried to converse with him. Soon we fell silent- a long, long time ago. Far to long for me to remember. Out of all the other stones, he specifically picked me. I am grateful for that.

The day I went into service was a day similar to this. I waited patiently for company as rain poured over me. Just my luck to end up with a silent solemn grandfather. The family did not waste any time, instantaneously they blew their money on a large service to party with their friends. Since that day I hadn’t had a visitor (poor people employed for maintenance don’t count).

I shouldn’t complain; after all most days I can humour myself with other things. I count the number of birds flying above me or watch the sun set over the horizon behind the city. Through rain and shine that metallic monster steadily grows reaching out into the countryside without care for the amount of ruin it does for the idyllic scenery it ruins. It refuses to remain stagnant, always on the prowl for more ground to swallow. Today it hid behind a curtain of fog scheming on how to add my town to its list of victims.

For now I have decided to return that coldly nonchalant front. If there is anything I have learnt from the man I serve its silence is the best weapon you can yield.


	6. The ghost of a woman whose former husband is now remarried with the woman he cheated on her with

I don’t remember when I stopped being whole and human and I became something other. But I do remember the first time when I greeted my husband and he ignored me. Dry eyed and frustrated, he walked right through me instead of breaking down in horror and sadness about my death. And yet I stupidly pushed it away as shock: something I can no longer blame on the lateness of the scheduled period of melancholy I expected. 

They walked hand in hand through the door a couple of hours ago and now was helping my husband shift through my clothes. What was she doing here? This was not her home—she did not belong here; she didn’t deserve to step into here. I shouldn’t worry, right- he brought her in as a friend. I shouldn’t distrust John because someone like that filthy woman wants to take my place as soon as I rest in my grave. 

Why am I even surprised that she is prying her way to be with someone she doesn’t deserve breathing the same air as? After all, she had tried to play this trick with every man in the neighbourhood. Sure, she even had a short fling with John last May but I packed that party up faster than the speed of light. The only thing that allows her to sink her dirty nails into my husband was my death. And, honestly, if I could pull back the curtain that separates life and death right now, she would be joining me in no time.


	7. 1- A serial killer who has many bodies buried in their back yard

I straightened out my trousers and wipe the sweat from my hands as I fluttered my eyelashes. Maybe if I played as the hormonal lonely housewife, he wouldn’t suspect me. It didn’t matter. I didn’t have a moment to speak- he was vomiting words out into the open. Smile, batter your eyelashes, ask if they would like tea----- no, wait you didn’t ask what they were here for! Feign worry, ask if they are here for my husband. The air is tense. 

I stared up at the quote board up on the wall, eyes fixated on the ‘love’ engraved on the plywood in attempt to force out even the slightest tear. Fear, as I had come learn, was the easiest emotion to convincingly portray to everyone. If your fearful, all energy must go to calm you down. If you are fearful, you can insinuate that you expected your husband to be caught committing a crime. Now you are a witness. 

Why is he looking at the floor? Is there a horrid odour coming from bellow? Do the creaking floorboards give away the fact that they were pulled up recently? Or is he looking at the carpet? Does the carpet have blood marks on it? I tried to breath out of my nose, slowly but surely. I just had to remind myself: I had to keep a sense that I had myself together.


End file.
